The Donovan Dynasty: Bind Part 21

The car ahead of them began to move again. "See that you don't." He eased into first gear.

She sat back. At times, his rigid responses caught her off guard. She'd seen the softer side of him with his brother, interacting with Thompson, with Mrs. Fuhrman, even Suzy-Q. But she knew better than to think that was the real him. Connor's spine was made of steel, and it seemed he never bent.

All too soon, they arrived at the parking garage.

He grabbed her bag from the trunk. Instead of waiting for him to come around to her side of the car, she climbed out, headed for the trash can to discard her empty cup then met him at the elevator.

The car had already arrived, and he was holding it open, waiting for her.

Everything he did spoke of control. She realized that, even if he was angry, he wouldn't show it. He was a difficult man to read.

She moved past him and stood at the back of the elevator. When the doors closed, she said, "I'll choose my words with more care in the future."

"It's over. Forgotten."

"Is that it?" She searched his features. "Are you that able to compartmentalize?"

"Yes. I rarely take anything personally. When it comes to you, doubly so. We'll get along much better through the years if we don't harbor resentment. Do you agree?"

"That's a great theory," she replied. "I'm afraid I'm a little more likely to hold onto things, though. It can take me a while to think things through and move on. I should probably try to be more like you."

He swept his gaze over her. "Don't change a single thing."

In response to his perusal, his words, her thought process slowed.

The elevator dinged, signaling that they'd reached his floor. The ride had been less than a minute, and in just that small amount of time, he'd managed to take an awkward-feeling situation and turn it around in a way that made her feel really good about herself.

She reminded herself that she'd never had much luck in the love area, and when she did commit, it would be to a man who was more spontaneous, less emotionally distant, a man capable of giving as much as she was.

Once they were inside his loft, he said, "Feel free to make yourself comfortable. The built-in drawers on your side of the closet are empty. You'll find empty drawers and cupboards in the bathroom for your toiletries. We'll take the weekend to figure out whose house we'll live in. Can I pour you a gla.s.s of wine?"

"Please." She hesitated. "Back to my mother for a minute."

He gave her his attention.

"I'd prefer just to tell her myself."

"I said I was willing to meet her."

In frustration, she sighed. "Do you ever relent?"

"I already have."

He probably believed that.

"Originally," he reminded her, "I said you couldn't talk about it to anyone. I'm willing to consider that perhaps that's unreasonable. So I need more information."

"I still don't like it."

"I don't like letting anyone else know."

"Fine. I'll message her and set up a time to see her. Is there anything on your schedule I need to know about?"

"I'll rearrange things if I need to in order to make time. I'll also have Thompson add you as an administrator on my calendar so you'll always know where I am."

Every step made the whole thing seem more real. "I...uhm...I'll put my things away if that's okay?"

He nodded. While he went to the kitchen, she sent her mother a message then walked toward his bedroom. If he had his way, it would be their room.

The place was so masculine, from the forest-green bedspread to the dark furnishings. Being in his closet was even more disquieting.

Everything was organized. On the far left were his suits, ranging in color from black to charcoal to light gray. His dress shirts were hung next to them. All were starched, all were white. Even from a distance she saw they were monogramed.

In the center of the closet, a few blazers divided the casual clothes from the business ones. His chinos were either khaki or navy. He'd hung the polo shirts together, grouped by color. Golf shirts were next. Off to the side were a handful of long-sleeved, soft-looking T-shirts. She noticed that every garment and hanger faced the same direction.

Connor joined her. She'd been so fixated on his level of order and precision that she hadn't started to unpack her bag. "Did you have a professional help you organize the closet?"

He shook his head. "Judging me to be too regimental?"

"I wouldn't say that out loud."

"Which means I read your mind."

She flushed, but she shrugged. "I've honestly never seen anything like it."

"I found ways to cope in the last few years."

"Since your father pa.s.sed?"

His gaze shuttered, but surprisingly, he didn't close her out. "That's part of it, certainly."

"And the rest?"

"Ask again over dinner."

He offered the wine and she accepted, taking a small sip. She put the gla.s.s on top of the dresser and unpacked her things. She hung a dress on a rail. "It looks a little odd."

"For now."

"Are you sure you're okay with me cluttering your s.p.a.ce like this?"

"It won't bother me in the least."

Next she went into the bathroom to put away her personal items. "I've never done anything like this," she said when she saw his reflection in one of the mirrors.

He lazed against the doorjamb, at ease. "What part?"

"Putting my stuff away at a man's house. I hadn't thought about it until now, but I rarely sleep over with a man. And I've never lived with anyone."

"It'll take some adjustment, but we'll figure it out."

Doubts and reality collided, crashing into her. She dropped her makeup bag onto the counter.

"Easy," he said.

She turned to face him. "I'd really imagined we'd..."

He waited.

"Go to a justice of the peace or a judge. Some sort of civil ceremony. Then I'd see you at board meetings." She pursed her lips.

"Lara, the day you walked in my office and I saw you in that delirium-inducing skirt, that became an impossibility. I was determined to have you. You will be waking up next to me for the next four years."

"Three!"

He grinned. "Ends that argument."

"Your contract said three years, Mr. Donovan."

"And now you think it's an excellent idea," he said.

"Coercion is grounds to nullify the entire agreement."

"That wasn't coercion."

"But it is trickery."

"Lara, I've already told you I play to win. You'd do well to remember it." In contradiction to his words, she saw a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

The crack in his hardened, careful veneer had a way of melting every bit of resolve. Unfortunately for her emotional well-being, it also drew her in closer.

"Have a drink of your wine. Relax a little, cut us both some slack. I didn't pour you much because I want you of sound mind when we enter the playroom."

Even though cool air whispered from the vents, she got very, very warm. "I thought what happened at my house sort of took the place of your plans for the afternoon."

"It was only an appetizer."

He left her alone, and it took all of her concentration to finish putting away her things. Her little bottles of shampoo and conditioner fit on one shelf inside the shower. But the soap she put in the dish near the bathtub.

After taking another sip of her drink, she went in search of him.

He was in the living room, sitting on the couch. "In our contract, we didn't address birth control."

She sank onto a chair. "I'm on the pill."

"I always wear condoms, but since we're going to be married, I expect we'll want to forgo them sometime in the future."

Lara nodded.

"And if you plan to get off the birth control pills, you'll discuss it with me first?"

He'd said it so matter-of-factly that it was impossible to feel embarra.s.sed. "Of course."

"Good. Anything else you need to talk about before we go in the playroom?"

Her insides suddenly became molten. He was a master at using his voice and tone. He gave a slight emphasis to the word playroom, and he managed to change the subject from serious to sensual in only a few seconds.

"In that case, go in our bedroom and strip then join me in the playroom. Get in one of the positions I taught you earlier and wait patiently for my attention."

Something in her responded to him completely. She nodded.

She walked down the hallway, her shoes echoing off the hardwood boards. And she was aware of his gaze the entire way.

In his closet-their closet-she hung up her dress and put her panties in a laundry bag that she'd brought along. Then she put her bra in a drawer with the rest of her lingerie. It was interesting, being with him. In just a few days, she'd become more adept at keeping her focus even while things seemed a little out of control. Perhaps she understood him better. Being methodical was a skill, one that could serve her well. At the least, the thought kept her calm while she smoothed her hair and went to rejoin him.

He was already in the playroom, but he looked totally different, astoundingly Dominant.

Even though he'd given her instructions, her step faltered, and it took all her control not to speak to him.

He'd removed his jacket and turned back his sleeves, leaving his forearms bare. She drank in the sight of him-lean, commanding.

His legs were spread wide and his thighs looked powerful. He had the whip coiled in one hand.

If she'd ever had a s.e.xual fantasy about a man, he was it.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod toward the floor.

Galvanized, she crossed to the center of the room and knelt. She settled in, this time with her gaze cast down. Having her head back would make it all but impossible not to look at him.

She pulled her shoulders back and rested her hands, palms upturned, on her thighs. The entire time, he'd been silent, but she was conscious of him standing over her.

"Even better than I could have hoped," he said.

Lara took a breath to school her thoughts.

He allowed the time and distance to stretch. And she took her cue from him. Her heart beat faster than normal, and her breaths were shallow, but she forced herself to wait.

She heard him moving things around and the sound of something being dragged across the floor. The spanking bench, maybe? She was almost glad she couldn't tell exactly what he was doing. Then she remembered what he'd said about fear. The images her imagination was supplying were probably much worse than anything he would actually do to her.

"Tell me what you're thinking." Though he'd spoken softly, the words seemed to reverberate.

"I'm trying not to."

"And?"

"It's working, but only a little. I'm wondering what you're doing. Feeling a little apprehension, then I'm reminding myself that I have words I can use and that I've liked everything we've done. And some of those things I would have said I didn't want to do." She paused. "There's a tiny amount of curiosity mixed in, too."

"Stand and come to me."